


just plain horrifying tbh

by jubileechase



Category: Natasha Pierre and the Great Comet of 1812 - Malloy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Somebody stop him, anatole pours the milk before the cereal, and it's hardly relevant to the plot except to explain why pierre was there, but they're not happy in that relationship at all, okay look pierre and helene are together during this, so im not tagging it as a relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-28
Updated: 2017-11-28
Packaged: 2019-02-08 00:24:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 579
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12852744
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jubileechase/pseuds/jubileechase
Summary: anatole kuragin is the type of person who pours milk first, THEN cerealpierre bezukhov just wants a break





	just plain horrifying tbh

**Author's Note:**

> OKAY basically this is like. just a vague concept that entered my mind whilst in a supermarket and i HAD to get it into words because god, it's too good.  
> also i suppose this is like, a teensy bit of a prequelly type thing to this really huge modern pierre/natasha college au thing im writing that i doubt ill ever post on here because ive kind of jsut been sending it to a friend, and talking about it extensively with a few friends, but idk if ill post it, and you literally do not need to know anything about it to understand this. but basically this is like approximately a year before the events of that which means pierre and helene are together and things are just beginning to go downhill with them.  
> im not even sure why im posting THIS tbh. anyway hope you share mine and pierre's opinions regarding both cereal and anatole kuragin

               Pierre shuffled into the Kuragins’ kitchen, pushing his glasses up to rub at his eyes, weary from maybe about two hours of sleep, a lot of drinking, and a little bit of crying. Unfortunately, when the glasses dropped back down in front of his eyes, he noticed that he was not alone.

               “Gooood morning, Pierre!”

               “Not really,” he mumbled as he turned to face Anatole, who was digging through the fridge.

               “Jeez, you sound exhausted,” Anatole said, closing the fridge and leaning against the shut door, a carton of milk in hand. He winked. “I’m guessing you and Hélène didn’t get much sleep last night?”

               Pierre’s stomach twisted at the thought of how his night with Hélène had gone down. Maybe he should break up with her. No, they had barely been together a month. He wanted to at least try to make things work. And besides, they had both been really drunk. She probably hadn’t really meant any of the stuff she said. “Yeah, but not the way you’re thinking, so don’t make that face.”

               Anatole rolled his eyes. “Yeah, sure, whatever.” He placed the carton on the marble benchtop – everything in the house screamed _we have money and style and want you to know it_ – and pulled out a bowl from a cupboard.

               After a brief pause, Pierre spoke again, hoping Anatole’s answer would be that of a normal human person and not of an Anatole. “Hey, would I be able to use your phone? I need to call Andrey and I left my phone in Hélène’s room, and she’s still asleep…” He faltered slightly as his mind registered the fact that Anatole was, in fact, pouring the milk into the bowl, but he decided not to question it. “…So I don’t want to go in there and wake her up or anything.”

               “Yeah, let me just finish making breakfast first.”

               “Okay,” Pierre yawned. Anatole walked over to the pantry. It wasn’t until he returned, box of Froot Loops cereal in hand – did he ever eat anything that wasn’t just pure sugar? – and went to pour the contents of the box into the bowl of milk that Pierre truly registered what was going on. “Wait, wait, wait, stop.”

               Anatole froze. “What?”

               “Are you about to pour the cereal into the milk?”

               “Yeah, I told you, I’m making breakfast,” Anatole shrugged.

               “By pouring the milk first.”

               “Yep.”

               “And then the cereal.”

               “Correct.”

               Pierre opened his mouth to respond, but was lost for words. He pinched the bridge of his nose. Of course Anatole poured the milk first. Of fucking course he did. “Oh my god I can’t deal with this right now,” he sighed, not caring whether or not Anatole heard him.

               “It’s not like it’s _your_ cereal.”

               “Doesn’t make it less painful to look at.”

               “Alright, I suppose you’re right,” Anatole said, seeming to drop the argument weirdly calmly. Pierre looked at him with confusion. “I’ll make a fresh bowl.”

               “What?”

               “Mhm.” Anatole pulled out another bowl and poured the cereal into it. But he didn’t reach for the milk carton that he had left, open, on the bench, no. He held the second bowl over the first one, not breaking eye contact with Pierre.

               And then it dawned on Pierre what he was about to do. “You wouldn’t _dare_.”

               “Oh,” Anatole grinned, tipping the second bowl so the cereal fell into the bowl of milk. “But I _would_.”

               It took everything in Pierre to not scream.


End file.
